


Punishment

by keep_waking_up



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, M/M, Mythology - Freeform, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-03-20 14:30:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3653835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keep_waking_up/pseuds/keep_waking_up
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Most gods don't remember what it was like to be human.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Punishment

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hybridshade (shimyaku)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shimyaku/gifts).



> Written for hybridshade for spnspringfling for the prompt "historical/mythological/fantastical AU"

Most of the other gods don’t remember what it was like to be human. Dean does, because it’s too painful to forget.

He stands on the side of the highway, hands in his pockets, leather jacket curled around him. The sun is setting. The moon is just beginning to become clear in the sky. Further down the highway, there is the roar of an engine, and then the Impala glides into view, coming to a purring halt in front of Dean.

In all of mythology, Sam told him once, the sun god and the moon god have never shared a chariot. Sam and Dean do. Because this is punishment.

Dean’s brother unfurls from the front seat of the car Dean never used to let him drive. He walks around the car with quick strides to catch Dean in his arms. The minutes start counting down. Once, they had a lifetime together. Now they have three minutes a day.

For his part, Dean pulls his brother in eagerly, devouring Sam’s mouth as the sun’s power wanes and his own waxes.

Sam is bright like the sun he pulls through the sky each day. Even having known his brother for centuries upon centuries, Dean still marvels at his golden skin, his sunshine smile, the sheer muscle and mass of him. The freckles Dean wears across his fair skin—paler than it ever was when he was human—are a byproduct of the few minutes they spend each day wrapped around each other.

“Dean,” Sam sighs into his mouth, heat and sunbeams in his breath.

They don’t speak much anymore. Once upon a time, not speaking was a problem for them. Now, there’s nothing left to say that hasn’t been said a million times before. There’s nothing to say that can’t be said by the press of their bodies together, the way they sing at each others’ proximity.

Sam leaves burns across Dean’s skin, just as frostbite follows the path of Dean’s hands up Sam’s arms. They heal immediately, of course, but sometimes Dean wishes they didn’t. Wounds would make it easier for him to make it through the days and nights without Sam at his side. Wounds would make it easier for him to remember when Sam slept at his side every night, the two of them curled together like puppies on a too-small bed.

Once upon a time, they drove and hunted together. Now, the day is Sam’s domain and the night is Dean’s. They have their jobs to fulfill, and their jailers ensure they do them.

“Dean,” Sam murmurs again, and licks into his mouth with the familiarity of their entire lives. Dean sometimes thinks that they weren’t always like this. But it’s too hard for him to recall a time he didn’t know the feel of Sam against him, around him, in him. Although the last is a rare occasion, these days.

One minute left.

At first, they tried to find a way out of everything. For the first century, maybe, they squandered their meetings on whispered hopes and cautious plans. It took them far longer than it should have to realize that they could change nothing. They’d done too much, changed too much, while they were alive. They were punished for it with eternities.

The sun’s last rays illuminate Sam’s face. Dean reaches up and runs his fingers across the jut of his cheekbone. “Sammy,” he says, his favorite word. The only one he’s said for fifty years.

Sam used to say, “I love you” every time they parted. After two centuries of that, Dean put a stop to it. Perhaps if they’d loved each other less, they wouldn’t be separated the way they are.

Ten seconds.

Dean slips out of Sam’s arms and walks around to slip into the front seat of the Impala, forever preserved the way she was when they were human. His hands find the familiar grooves and his foot pushes down on the pedal. It’s time for the moon to rise.

He guns the engine and shoots down the highway, watching in his rearview mirror until Sam is a speck behind him. His hands clench on the wheel and he drives on.

If they loved each other less, it wouldn’t be punishment.


End file.
